O Come All Ye Faithful
by Hyphen
Summary: Peter moves closer and closer to betrayal in this loose followup to The Weakest Link. Meanwhile, the Marauders, though all grown up, bicker as much as ever. It all adds up to a Christmas tragicomedy, and my own personal favourite among my stories.


This story takes place shortly after the meetings described in The Weakest Link. I would recommend giving Link a try, because it's atmospheric and (more importantly!) quite brief. If you'd rather not, there's a plot synopsis below.   
Either way, this is a Christmas story about the Marauders a few years out of school, with Voldemort at the peak of his powers. Like all my work, it's meant to be funny. It's also meant to be somewhat serious and sad, because it tells part of the story of Peter's betrayal. So, bring out the hankies and the violins, and read on. You know, I believe I like this story more than any of my other attempts...  
  
  
  
_The story so far_: Voldemort's recruiters have approached both Remus and Peter. Remus, working as the DADA teacher at Hogwarts, has been forced to resign from his post through their blackmail. Peter, meanwhile, has been thoroughly intimidated...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
OH COME ALL YE FAITHFUL  
  
  
Peter shivered, only in part at the icy wind that had forced its way into his cloak yet again. He struggled to pull the wool tighter as snow-laden gusts whistled eerily through ragged gaps in the walls around him. He knew it was a useless struggle. The blizzard would always find the chinks in his armour, just as it had found its way into the ruined cathedral.  
  
At least the dark, overcast sky spared him the sight of the remaining columns of masonry swaying wind-whipped against the darkened sky.   
  
One little fear less, then: but there were so many greater ones...  
  
He shivered, again, glancing at the tall figure pacing the nave with no thought for the weather, dark cloak beating like wings in the wind. His teeth chattered as he listened to the mocking laughter. Still, he knew that this was a fear he could somehow bear: the twisted, cowering respect he owed anyone so much stronger than himself.  
  
What was harder to bear was the sight of the figure twitching on the floor. The figure, which he knew to be a friend, spasming in pain on the carved marble gravestones in the aisle. He could not see it clearly: just thinking about it made his heart hum with fear. And it was no good trying to convince himself that the fear was for his friend. He knew well that he feared only for himself, and for his own soul. His eyes slid away, over the gravestones, pausing at the carving of a woman with a dog curled up at her feet. A symbol of faithfulness, he recalled, as well as a reminder of two friends who'd saved him in a thousand ways, on a thousand occasions. He knew now he had not deserved it. Now that his turn had come, all he could do was stare and despair. And all he could feel was gratitude that the figure on the floor was not himself. Something had been broken. Did it even matter who the figure was? Could he tell? The screams had turned inhuman and unrecognizable a long time ago. And as for the face... something was clouding his sight. Not tears - tears would have been welcome, familiar and meaningful. Something alien. Something wrong with his face. He lifted his hands...  
  
And the world shook. He had lifted his hands over his head to protect it from falling boulders, when he heard his name called out by a warm, worried voice.  
  
  
  
"Peter! Peter!" Marzipan Pickle's round face was a picture of worried innocence. She was shaking him hard by the shoulder. "You're having another bad dream."  
  
And so he had been. The office walls were whole: the room was pleasantly - or perhaps even unpleasantly - warm. Marzie herself, short, and sensibly cloakless in this heat, was no sinister figure. No-one, nothing, writhed on the floor, or indeed anywhere, unless one chose to count the cheery dancing flames of the Christmas candles. The air no longer smelled of thunder and things long dead, but of floor polish, old parchment, and fresh-ish fruitcake.  
  
"You were tossing and turning, muttering 'no!' over and over again," Marzie explained earnestly.  
  
"Was I?" Peter breathed in deeply and rubbed at his eyes, delighted to find the traces of tears. His self-hatred faded as he gazed at his desk and its familiar clutter.  
  
"Now, Peter", Marzie had obviously noticed the improvement. She drew back, her hand slipping off his shoulder. Her voice took on a mild nagging lilt as she continued. "I've told you before that a rich cheese lunch and a nap at your desk are the stuff nightmares are made of. Not that," she continued with a sigh, "we lack for nightmare ingredients in our work here at the Ministry."  
  
There was a slight wobble in her tone as she turned her face half away. "Something wrong?" Peter asked. He was glad to be able to lend a sympathetic ear.  
  
"Last night," Marzie sighed, "We were called out pretty late, after you'd gone home. To a big Muggle shop, full of toys. Someone," she continued, looking down at the ground, "had been enchanting the stuffed animals. At sunset, they came to life... like in a storybook, really, except that two children died and five were taken to hospital. Bears, tigers, I suppose they can be pretty violent animals... I was more surprised by the rabbits." She paused, clearly trying to force the images from her mind. "We think we know why it was done," she looked up at him. "One of the little girls, she had been a first-year at Hogwarts. Muggle-born, of course, that makes sense, that's how They think, except I do not understand what kind of a mind could think of such a method? We finally convinced everyone that a crazed Doberman had been to blame."  
  
Peter placed his hand on hers, which was now toying with the cheese-shaped paperweight on his desk.  
  
"You're so brave, Marzie," he said. "You actually go out there and see... Put Memory Charms on all those Muggles... I don't think I could do that. It's almost too much for me just to fill in the paperwork."  
  


"Oh, Peter," Marzie said with a shy, dismissive wave, colouring with pleasure. "I only see little vignettes, fragments of it all. I don't think I could do what you do, filling in detailed forms, adding up the statistics..."  
  
Without taking his eyes off her, Peter reached out and flipped over the form lying on top of his Out pile. "Bystander Casualties," the November report. No need for her to see that. He smiled in what he hoped was reassuring fashion, achieving the appearance of good-natured confusion. He was trying to remember what a vignette was, and his bafflement showed.  
  
At last, Marzie looked away, shyly. "I should go... I only came in to say goodnight, and I have my shopping to do."  
  
"That's right... I'm off somewhere, too. An early Christmas party," Peter remembered. "Goodnight, Marzie," he concluded softly.  
  
"Goodnight, Peter," she replied, slipping out of his office.  
  
Much cheered up by this exchange, Peter decided that he was looking forward to the party. In spite of his treacherous dreams. He put on his cloak, stepped out of the Ministry building, and Disapparated.  
  
  
Apparating at his destination, Peter felt a moment of panic. Wind-driven snowflakes brushed against his face: He was caught in the blizzard of his nightmares! It took him a moment to calm down and realize that the snow was ideal Christmas snow, white and fluffy. Perfect for setting off the dark evergreens on either side of the cottage door, and only just cold enough to make the dancing fire visible through the window welcoming. Calming down, he took a deep breath, formed a bright smile, and lifted the knocker. The lion's head carved above it roared in festive fashion. A real Gryffindor lion, he thought to himself as he waited, his smile now sincere.  
  
It was James who opened the door, and moved aside to let him in, revealing a glowing Lily. At her invitation, Peter stepped into a warm, brightly-lit room smelling strongly of pine tar and spice. His eyes widened in wonder as he took in all the twinkling, floating lights, and the wreaths enchanted to sing Christmas carols.  
  
"Wow!" was all he could say.  
  
"Lily's work," James explained proudly.  
  
"Homey, isn't it?" Lily asked with some satisfaction. "I have been feeling this sudden, unusual urge to become more... well, domestic."  
  
While the three exchanged hugs and greetings, Peter couldn't help noticing the meaningful glances James exchanged with his wife. As well as the matching flour smudges present on both their faces: it looked as if they'd been working together in the kitchen, and at very, very close quarters at that. His frost-reddened cheeks coloured further as he realized that he was a bit early.  
  
Lily noticed him looking and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "We're not quite ready yet," she grimaced good-naturedly, "And James is absolutely hopeless and distracting and _will_ get flour all over his best robes." She brushed at the flour sprinkled on James' shoulder absent-mindedly as she continued, "Hopefully he will do better work now that you are here. Come on and let me make use of you, too: with all that masculine competitiveness," here she flexed an emphatic biceps, "we'll be done in no time."  
  
They all went on through to the kitchen, where Peter was put to work shelling walnuts. He managed to master this novel task reasonably quickly, creating only a handful of flying walnut shell shrapnel and causing almost no injuries. He was feeling really quite pleased with himself, especially once he had noticed the little walnut-sized craters that spoke of earlier, and poorer, attempts. "Your work, I presume, James?" he asked, pointing them out.  
  
"Watch it, Peter," James replied, "Or I'll make these gingerbread men pay. They look so much like you, it'd probably work as voodoo." He held up one particularly plump figure, which he'd personally endowed with a receding hairline.  
  
"I don't know about the voodoo, James," Lily commented, "but the one you accidentally stretched looks quite a bit like you..."  
  
The laughing voices must have been quite loud, as Remus, arriving perfectly on time, had no trouble locating the kitchen. "Your door was unlocked," he explained, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Let me guess: you locked it for us, and put up some serious wards," James laughed uneasily, clearly embarrassed by his oversight.   
  
The mood soured slightly. To Peter, the room seemed to darken as the laughter died down: he could still hear carols, but they were coming from quite far away. Besides, carols somehow reminded him of Marzie's story. Even the cracked walnuts now seemed sinister, victims of a bizzare torture. "We are living in such a dark age," he thought. Laughter seemed like a foolish distraction. The silence dragged on.  
  
With a quick smile, Remus stepped up to James and pointedly opted not to shake his icing-encrusted hand. "Serious wards, James?" he asked. "Well, naturally I put up some wards, but I didn't realize we were trying to keep poor Padfoot out," he joked, embarrassed, in turn, by the awful pun he'd just made. "Don't roll your eyes, Lily, somebody _had_ to say it," he justified himself.   
  
"Oh, Remus, trust you to make every sacrifice," Lily said, kissing him on the cheek. She smiled up at him and he looked around, eyes drinking in the festive atmosphere thirstily. "It's perfect," he said, perhaps a bit sadly.  
  
"I've had this sudden natural urge to make this house more of a home," Lily explained, following his gaze. "Anyway, it'll be even more perfect once you boys have carried all the food out to the front room," she continued, pointing out plates and jugs as the Marauders complied.  
  
The ensuing bustle shook Peter out of his reverie, and suddenly everything seemed bright and cheerful again. "I seem to recall days when James was the one giving us all orders," he joked, before pausing to surreptitiously stuff a cheese pastry into his mouth.  
  
In reply, James just laughed, and started levitating his plates along the corridor. It was irritating: he was dropping rolls all over the place, probably on purpose. Lily narrowed her eyes and sent a wholewheat roll crashing into the back of his head. He bellowed in mock pain, inspiring Remus to avenge him with a well-aimed bun. Soon, the air was full of flying baked goods.  
  
"Umpf!" said Peter, finally catching up and hastily swallowing the remains of the pastry. "What on earth are you... empf!" He never got to finish the question, as someone had levitated a roll right into his open mouth. It was just as tasty at the pastry, and he gobbled it up with speed.  
  
His healthy appetite made the others eye the food speculatively.  
  
"Do help yourselves," Lily suggested, mindful of Remus, who was looking rather starved, and of Peter, who was looking around _as if_ he'd been starved. "Sirius _did_ say not to wait for him."  
  
"Please do," James seconded. "I do hope you're all wearing your loosest robes." He seemed to think about this for a bit, and then gave Lily another meaningful look. Remus noticed it, of course. Remus always noticed things: a result of being paranoid and on his guard all the time.  
  
"Oh, _I_'m not worried about that sort of thing," he said, heaping food onto a plate. "Remember, I'm eating for two," he explained, with absolutely no hint whatsoever of a meaningful look at Lily.  
  
"Here you go," James stepped up with a glass of heated wine, "You can drink for two, as well, for once. Perhaps it'll even put some colour into your cheeks."  
  
Remus accepted the drink with a smile. "I suppose anything is possible, even if I do think I'd be better off using the stage makeup Sirius gave me last year," he commented. "I do feel bad, though: I notice that Lily is not drinking at all," he added, innocently.  
  
"I am, too!" Lily countered, lifting up her glass of apple juice. "This is pure whisky, you know."  
  
"A-ha. Right," Remus said. They looked at each other with all the respect two sensible, clever people living in a world devoid of common sense surely owe each other.  
  
James, meanwhile, was now offering wine to Peter. "And how are you, Wormtail?" he asked. "I mean, we all know all about Moony and his recent troubles, but what about you?"  
  
Peter fought another wave of panic. Did James know about the recruiters who'd been accosting him, in pubs, stores, on quiet streets? But if he did, why was his tone so casual? Did he expect Peter to reply with something like "I told Voldie's flunkies to go to hell! Well, they have no dirt on me, unlike Remus, that poor chap"? Or was he supposed to describe his latest encounter with Malfoy and ask for advice? Confused, he stammered out "W-what do you mean?" He flinched at his own words: he had sounded frightened, guilty.  
  
"Your work at the Ministry, for one," James explained with a frown, "How is _that_ going?"  
  
"And how is your mother?" Lily asked. "I haven't seen her since... well, since she was your date at the wedding, I suppose."  
  
"Mother is... fine," Peter replied. "A little worried about me, I suppose. It's the work at the Ministry, well, she's, um, accidentally looked through some of my papers," he continued, feeling compelled to bring the topic up, "and she's seen the death rates for various Ministry officials... Of course, I realize that the figures, they're nowhere near as bad as those for Aurors, or members of Dumbledore's League," he added quickly, worried that they might think he'd been trying to make himself sound heroic or important, "but, well, we've had a lot of... problems, and she's... worried..." he finished feebly, noticing his friends' suddenly somber faces.  
  
He felt his cheeks burning. Nobody was saying anything: he had committed yet another major faux-pas. James was looking worriedly at Lily, who was hugging her stomach, her face pale. Remus was staring off into space, his face thoughtful. The fire crackled: the flames shot up, casting long shadows. Peter jumped as the shadows at his feet slithered along like snakes.  
  
  
The uncomfortable silence was broken by the roar of a motorbike. As far as they knew, only one motorbike made that odd barking noise as the engine wound down. Sirius was not all that late, all things considered. It looked as if he'd realized this himself: a few moments passed by, marked by Sirius' continued absence. James looked over at Remus "_Did_ you put those wards up, after all?" he asked.  
  
Before Remus could defend himself from such a rash accusation, everyone's attention was drawn by the fireplace. The flames went out, followed by a crash and a stream of interesting curses. A cloud of ash spilled out into the room, coughing loudly.  
  
Both James and Remus leapt into action.  
  
"Zephyrus!"  
  
"Boreas!"  
  
A confusion of air currents (mostly from the west and the north, for the undereducated) enlarged the dust cloud further. The coughing sounds became a chorus.  
  
"The fireplace is on the _west_ wall!" Lily announced in choked, amused, and yet pained, tones.  
  
"It's typical, really. They have no sense of direction: never did. Famous for it." answered a mysterious voice.  
  
"Sirius!" Peter gasped with relief. The tall dark figure visible through the gloom had awakened his worst suspicions. It still seemed slightly the wrong shape, but the voice was unmistakable.  
  
Simple, undramatic cleaning spells eventually cleared the air, and cleaned Sirius up enough to reveal him dressed as a fat old man in a red cloak.  
  
"Ho Ho Ho!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide open. "I have arrived!"  
  
"Professor Dumbledore! What an honour! But... you've gained so much weight!" James was bowing and scraping before him.  
  
"No, no! He's Father Christmas!" Peter contradicted. Everyone looked at him strangely. As he realized that he was a couple of paces behind as usual, he suddenly felt rather alone. He looked down and studied a remaining sooty smudge.  
  
"You know, I think I'd rather see him as a Christmas elf," Remus said thoughtfully.  
  
"What, with the tights and everything?" James asked. Remus nodded in agreement.  
  
"Yes, I think I'd prefer that too," Lily said sweetly.  
  
"Well, whenever you've decided to take your minds off my fabulous legs and be polite," Sirius interrupted, pulling out the sack which had served as his stomach, "maybe I'll hand out the presents."  
  
"Eat first," Lily suggested, "while we all fetch ours."  
  
"Ont mind iv I oo," Sirius replied, his mouth already full. His words were almost drowned out by the noise as people brought in three more sacks, fetched glasses of wine and sherry, and settled into various comfy armchairs.  
  
"Well," said Father Christmas, finally, over his own glass, "I do believe I'll start with Sirius' gift, as they are always the best." Here, he paused for a moment to give the others time to make disbelieving faces, snort, and roll their eyes. "The first present is for Mr and Mrs Potter. Are they, um, _present_?"  
  
"Oh, give it here," said James, snatching a large book-shaped package wrapped in exceedingly tasteless paper, and handing it to Lily with a polite bow.  
  
"Aren't you going to tell me if you've been good?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Of course we haven't," Lily replied impatiently, removing the paper. A smell of exotic incense drifted through the room as she finally unearthed the gift. She lifted it up for everyone to see.  
  
It was "Kama Sutra In Flight: Sensuality For The Airborne." James, sitting on the arm of her chair, looked rather shocked.  
  
"The moment I saw it, I thought of you," Sirius explained. "Well, we all know how much you love to fly. And, I've been meaning to give you a little instruction manual for quite some time, Mr Married-With-No-Children. I've been starting to get worried that I'll never get a chance to make good on my threat to corrupt your little ones."  
  
At this point, James and Lily exchanged yet another of their conspiratorial looks. This was a particularly eloquent exchange: James raised a questioning eyebrow and Lily replied with a shake of her head. Peter felt confused and rather left out. Secret codes, secrets everywhere: why couldn't there be openness at least among his friends? His dark suspicious mood deepened as he noticed that even Remus was acting oddly, looking up at the ceiling with a knowing smirk.  
  
"Thank you, Sirius," James said, at length, very seriously. "That's very thoughtful of you." Lily nodded agreement with a smile, and then proceeded to look through the book with some interest.  
  
"Welcome. Now, Peter, here's yours," Sirius announced, holding up something vaguelly horn-shaped and decorated with a flashing bow, "but you won't get it until you tell me at least one bad thing you've done this year."  
  
"Would kicking you in the shins right now count?" Peter inquired with rare spirit.  
  
Sirius just tossed him the gift, which was quite easy to unwrap once Peter had taken the Biting Bow off his finger. It was, well, a horn. Most likely once the property of a ram, but no longer.  
  
"Hmm," Remus said, as everyone tried to figure this one out. "Don't worry, Peter, it could be worse: remember that life-size chewable human he gave me last year."  
  
"Oh, just put your hand inside!" Sirius instructed. Seeing everyone's utter lack of willingness to follow his instructions, he did so himself. His hand came out unchanged, but wielding a large, shiny, parchmentclip.  
  
"You've all heard of the Horn Of Plenty. Well, this is a Horn Of Parchmentclips. I..."  
  
"I know, I know," Peter interrupted, "You saw it and thought of me and my work at the Ministry of Magic. Thanks, Sirius," he continued, his face all lit up, "It's pretty cool."  
  
"Welcome, once more . Finally, Remus, it's your turn," Sirius announced, carefully taking out a large, bell-shaped package with "THIS SIDE UP" written on the top in large letters.  
  
Remus took it, looking slightly suspicious. He removed the wrapping quite quickly. It was a cage, full of grey feathers and offended hooting.  
  
"_Two_ owls?" he asked.  
  
"Well, yes. Not to put a damper on the happy occasion, but I know you're going off somewhere, and I just wanted to make sure you stay in touch. With _everyone_. You can breed the owls, you know: just make sure you don't eat them."  
  
"That's easier said than done," Remus murmured, studying the owls carefully.  
  
"Not at all!" Sirius exclaimed. "Just make sure they're both busy with deliveries at least once a month, and it'll all work out fine."  
  
Remus looked up from his inspection, rather amused. "Sirius, you do realize these owls are both male, don't you?" he asked.  
  
"Um?" Sirius was rather taken aback. "Well, you know me: I'm nothing if not open-minded."  
  
At that moment, Lily elbowed James in the ribs and pointed to some particularly fascinating picture in her new book. James gave it a brief glance. He then looked at it again, lingeringly, his cheeks red. The owls hooted.  
  
Eyebrows raised, Sirius decided to kill his curiosity and press on. "I think I'll do the hosts' gifts now. They look pretty interesting," he announced, picking up another sack.  
  
Lily and James looked at each other, yet again. "A moment," Lily said with a smile, as James left the room. He soon returned with four crystal goblets of something red and delicious, which he handed round to his guests before positioning himself in the middle of the room.  
  
"Before our gifts are opened," he announced, "Lily and I would like to mention the gift we've, um, given each other." He cleared his throat.  
  
Lily winked at Remus. "We're going to become parents," she said quickly, rather stealing James' thunder.  
  
"Congratulations," Remus said, calmly.  
  
"Yes, congratulations," Peter, in turn, was all breathless.  
  
Sirius, meanwhile, was glowering. "Damn you, James," he said, "Give me back that useless book!"  
  
James held it out of his grasp. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked.  
  
"Isn't it obvious? I'll give it to Remus' owls!"  
  
"You could just give it to Remus," Remus suggested.  
  
"I'm sure the owls will let you share."  
  
The owls hooted. You should draw your own conclusions from this.  
  
Sirius gave in and proposed a toast, and everyone drained their goblets. Peter, meanwhile, had been thinking, and the serious, worried look on his face suggested that he was not thinking about the owls. At last he spoke.  
  
"Aren't you a bit worried, though? With..." here he lowered his voice to a whisper "You-Know-Who and his minions on the prowl everywhere, this seems like a very dangerous time to..."  
  
He couldn't finish, as Sirius had lobbed a gift right into his stomach. "Please keep your mind out of the gutter, Wormtail," he said, half-angrily.  
  
Peter struggled for breath. Looking at Lily's pallor, James' set expression, and Remus' frown, he realized he had hit upon a shared thought. But why couldn't they share it out loud? Didn't they trust him? Dejectedly, he unwrapped his gift, which turned out to be a DayPlanner. He was starting to see a trend here: impersonal gifts for Peter. "Thanks," he said to the Potters.  
  
"Yeah, _thanks_," Sirius said sarcastically, looking at his gift, a safety helmet. "I bet I look like a dork," he murmured, trying it on.  
  
"Too true," James sighed. "The helmet helps a bit, though. It covers some of your face."  
  
Sirius growled and made a fist.  
  
"Do tell me, Lily," Remus asked, "Won't life be a bit hard with _two_ children in the house?"  
  
"You'll have to come and visit," she replied. "You must, you're the perfect houseguest: well, most of the time," she allowed with a meaningful smile. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for that spell you showed me last time."  
  
"The one for getting toothpaste back into the tube?" Remus asked, laughing. He put on the traveling cloak he'd just unwrapped. "Thanks. It fits perfectly."  
  
"That reminds me," James lifted his head up. He'd been mock-strangling Sirius behind Lily's back. "Where exactly are you traveling to? We weren't sure how heavy a cloak you needed, that's why it's a magical one."  
  
"Oh, abroad," Remus explained with a wave of his hand. "Resigning from Hogwarts may not be such a bad thing after all: I intend to get some real experience fighting Dark creatures. Non-human Dark creatures, that is," he clarified with a frown. "I've always felt a bit of a fraud, teaching with only a little bit of summer practical work to back me up." He smiled at everyone quite casually.  
  
"Mayday! Mayday! Remus is displaying the usual studied nonchalance!" Sirius exclaimed. "Time for more presents! Let's open his, next." He opened the next sack and raised his eyebrows. "They are all the same and all unwrapped... at least I assume they're all unwrapped..." he said, lifting out a purple banana-shaped object studded with bizzare knobs. He opened his mouth to comment.  
  
"Shut up, Sirius," James said, "There are ladies present, and we all know what you're thinking."  
  
Peter didn't, but then he was pretty sure he didn't want to.  
  
Remus crossed the room and picked up the remaining objects. "They're Odorminders," he explained as he handed them out to everyone. "I'll let you figure them out for yourselves."  
  
"I've heard of those," Sirius said, "They record smells." He pressed his. "Wait a moment... this smells a lot like... our Potions Classroom. Ugh."  
  
"Ah, you've hit a bad one. You see, I recorded some Hogwarts smells on them," Remus explained. "They're really pretty... accurate, I find. They pick up only the basic scent, and not any of those confusing overlays of who's done what and when... Or am I being too, um, technical?"  
  
"Not for me, Moony," Sirius smiled, playing with his new toy. "I can't wait to... don't worry, Lily," he noticed her sharp look, "I'm not shape-shifting here. I know all this food would make a dog over-excited."  
  
Everyone spent a brief while looking for favourite smells. "The Quiddich field after rain" was James'. Lily chose "the secret herb garden in late spring," and Sirius "the secret corridor to Hogsmeade". Peter liked "the Christmas feast." Remus, meanwhile, claimed to prefer everything to do with the Enchanted Forest, and then proceeded to explain that Odorminders were so effective at evoking memories because one's memory was closely linked to one's sense of smell.  
  
"Never mind the lecture, Professor Lupin" Sirius said. "And here I thought you were getting sentimental!"  
  
"It is a bit of a sentimental gift, isn't it?" Remus asked, shrugging.  
  
"It's great," Lily said, enjoying "Dumbledore's office."  
  
"OK, moving on, moving on, people," Sirius the Santa was in control again. "Peter's gifts await. Impatiently, I'll bet. Here, pass me that sack. Hey, they're all identical, too!"  
  
Waiting for his gifts to be unwrapped and examined, Peter felt rather insecure. All the gifts seen thus far had been rather good, and he really did not think his would be equally welcome. Even if he felt they should be.  
  
"Necklaces?" James asked, unwrapping his and holding it against his chest.  
  
"Amulets," Lily explained, "Right, Peter?"  
  
"Yes," he answered, "I got them at the Diagon Alley Defence Depot. They're supposed to work against all kinds of curses..."  
  
At that moment, he was interrupted by Sirius who burst into uncontrollable laughter. Peter blanched. That was exactly how Lucius Malfoy had reacted upon seeing him walk out of the store, clutching his little amulets. "Some useless baubles for the Christmas tree, Pettigrew?" he had asked with a sneer. And now Sirius seemed to agree. Was the only protection he could offer his friends really so obviously worthless?  
  
Lily noticed Peter's expression. "Oh, do stop it, Sirius. You're being very rude."  
  
"I can't help it," Sirius gasped out, near tears. "Just look at him," he said, waving a hand at Remus. "That coat, and that gaudy amulet. It's the latest in street fashion, I'm not even joking. All he needs now is a girl on each arm, and I bet he can find a couple of hot girls abroad..."  
  
"Hmm," Remus started, but before he could deliver a witty retort Peter had broken in with some passion. "My amulets may be gaudy and weak," he started, "but at least they are _something_. At least I'm trying. And just look at you lot! Leaving your door unlocked! Having babies! Laughing, laughing, refusing to discuss, to consider... anything, any of the dangers!"  
  
James was the first to reply. "I assure you, Peter, we are all well aware of the danger. You know, most of us live with it every day." His voice was cold. The comments about the door and the baby had obviously rankled.  
  
"We are, really, Peter," Lily's tone was gentler, "But we do need to cheer up at least occasionally."  
  
"That's right!" Sirius exclaimed. "It's like those people who knew the Black Death was coming for them. They would dine, and drink, and dance, and have a wonderful time. Remus told us about it, remember?"  
  
"Sirius, don't be macabre," Remus replied. "Our situation is really quite different. We are not all going to die; we do not have the plague."  
  
"Speak for yourself, Remus," James commented. "With the things our Padfoot gets up to, I wouldn't be too shocked if he did."  
  
"One _might_ say," Sirius argued airily, ignoring James, "that Voldemort is a plague. A festering boil on the bum of society, certainly. Anyway, as I always say, any excuse for a party. Besides," he continued, while the owls hooted with enthusiasm, "Peter has nothing to worry about in this scenario. As far as I remember, rats are only _carriers_ of the Plague."  
  
"Just _what_ is that supposed to mean?" Peter nearly shouted. He knew he should have stayed quiet, if Sirius really suspected him, shouting would not help and would only draw the others' attention, but he just couldn't help himself. Himself, a carrier of Voldemort? _Did_ they know about the recruiters?  
  
"I don't think it means anything, Peter," Remus said quickly, reacting to his friend's panicked expression. "You know Sirius rarely makes sense."  
  
"That's right," Lily joined in, giving Sirius a deadly look. "And when he's been quaffing his mead as quickly as tonight, well..."  
  
"What kind of a conversation is this, anyway?" James frowned good-naturedly. "_I_ say we quaff more mead, and sing Christmas Carols or something."  
  
"Good idea," Sirius nodded, "But Remus should howl instead, his howling sounds _much_ better than his singing."  
  
In Peter's eyes, the conversation was getting derailed. "I just don't see why we can't talk about You-know-who..." he wailed.  
  
"We can!" Sirius answered. "_You_ can't. You can't even say his name like a normal person. I'll make a deal with you: you say Vol-de-mort and we can talk about him until we run out of insults."  
  
That was not exactly the conversation Peter had longed for. Still, he had to admit that Sirius had a point. He decided to give it a try. "Vol-de-mort," he pronounced the dreaded name, slowly. He noticed with pleasure that nothing had happened.  
  
Meanwhile, James had discovered an inconsistency. "Sirius, you say that 'Voldemort' is what a normal person would say. Why do _you_ say it, then?"  
  
"I don't," Sirius explained, "I say 'Voll-de-merde'. It's much more Euro, German and French. It means 'Full of...'"  
  
"Sirius, please, there are owls present," Lily interrupted smoothly. The owls, were, indeed, getting rather overexcited again.  
  
"Ah yes, the owls..." Sirus sighed. "You know, those owls really are a _hoot_...  
  
At this point, Peter decided to give up. He was frustrated and confused by the way his friends _would_ keep skirting important issues and dissolving into laughter. Humour was all very well in its place, he thought. He had loved his friends' jokes in school. He would even admit that they had often helped in tense situations, as when they were in disgrace or in trouble, awaiting punishment outside a professor's office. But this wasn't school, this was life, and why couldn't anyone understand _that_? Not even the owls...  
  
As the evening progressed, the conversation centered around old school memories and jokes at the expense of James the future father, Peter grew quiet and watched his friends as if watching a play. They just did not act like real people, sharing his frightening reality, but like characters from another, happier time. Well, they did have worries, but only private, limited ones. James and Lily were wrapped up in the issues surrounding their future issue. Remus was busy pretending not to mind his upcoming exile. And Sirius, well, with Sirius everything was always personal. Peter could see no fear of the world in general in any of them, not even when he made deliberate references to its dangers. When they grew pale, or pensive, at his words, he saw them blanching at his social awkwardness. The concerned looks they gave him as he withdrew into silence somehow slipped his eye.  
  
It grew late and the fire died down. Under Peter's gaze, the lenghtening shadows moved across the room, altering everything they touched. They extinguished the golden highlights in Lily's hair, the glint in James's eyes. Peter shivered miserably as he left the cottage after an awkward goodbye. He could not decide: had he been the only coward in the room, or the only wise man, the only one with foresight?  
  
  
It was cold and dark, and the wind was howling like a wounded creature. He was standing in the cathedral again, watching a twitching, prone figure through the swirling snow. Confused, lost, alone, he was now determined to get a look, but his eyes... The wrongness, the obstruction was still there. He put his hands up to his face again, far less tentatively than before. Nobody woke him this time: and he was able to touch his Death Eater's hood. He screamed.  
  
Peter woke up with a start, in his own cold bed, clutching at the blanket tangled about his head. He lay motionless. A Dark Mark hung before him. Or was that just the shadow of his torn curtain?  
  
And, really, did it even matter? He was half-certain he'd be seeing the real mark before long.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Poor Peter... If you need to read something cheerier now, I suggest my other stuff. If you want to really sink into the darkness of the Days Of Voldemort, I recommend Blaise's work, especially her current story _A Second Chance_. (Incidentally, I believe that Dumbledore's League Against Voldemort, which I briefly mentioned, belongs to Blaise; almost everything and everyone else belongs to J K Rowling. All the usual disclaimers apply.)  
  
Finally, no matter what you go on to read or do, remember: writing reviews, especially constructive ones, does wonders for your karma... And good karma just _might_ keep Voldemort's recruiters at bay... 


End file.
